


Getting Peace

by HamandChiise



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Gore, I dont, M/M, Slow Burn, eventually mcgenji may happen, how i headcanon what happened to genji, may have mentions of past Genyatta, mentions of cybernetic parts, the first part of this is real rough you guys, who knows where this will go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:50:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8454226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamandChiise/pseuds/HamandChiise
Summary: "He was so angry at the inability to be able to fix the world, make it better- keep people safe, keep horrible things from happening… and McCree thought that the strongest when he had encountered Genji Shimada for the first time."McCree first meets Genji Shimada when the man's in a bad way. He makes it his mission to be there for him. Things don't always go the way we want them to, but he has a lot of time to make up for it.





	1. Beginnings of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Editing this to fit with Retribution's timeline. The beginnings of McCree and Genji's interactions and before Overwatch's reinstatement.

There were many sights that kept a man from getting peace. Especially if that man had been a soldier, a fighter, for as long as Jesse McCree had been. Violence had left a bloody hand print smeared across his conscious and subconscious life- and that made itself apparent in small ways. If McCree was relaxed, a small clatter or noise would have him reaching for his side, where his Peacekeeper was always resting. 

McCree could be sitting in the mess eating when, on closer inspection, his sauce could morph itself into spilled blood and dying figures, to which his stomach would roil for the rest of the day, all thoughts of eating lost. He wouldn’t consider himself jumpy, but he was a man haunted by ghosts- of those he had lost and those that he had personally ended. Those didn’t go away, no matter how much he washed his hands or how many people he saved. 

Sometimes there were things that made his morality flare its head violently, injustice building frustration to whistle out of him like steam from a kettle. He was so angry at the inability to be able to fix the world, make it better- keep people safe, keep horrible things from happening… and McCree thought that the strongest when he had encountered Genji Shimada for the first time.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been during the Blackwatch days, when McCree was still younger, less paunchy and more cocky- not as haggard by the betrayal and loss of three of his superior officers. He had been back from a mission and debriefed for a few hours when he had heard of the bustle occurring in Angela’s clinic. She had been working tirelessly on a patient, but who it was no one knew. There were technicians in there as well, which only meant major loss of limbs, more than one. McCree keenly felt his arm flare up in phantom pain, remembering the day he’d lost his own arm and had to have the replacement attached. He’d rather not remember that at all, but his mind had been sharp and aware the whole time.

Still, Angela had not allowed anyone inside, though that didn’t stop Jesse from slipping in late into the evening. The good doctor had switched out for another medic to get a few hours of sleep, and as such Jesse was able to lie his way in as another technician. No one questioned a man in the appropriate attire (which he stole from a supply closet- the locks were laughably easy to pick around here for being a secret base). The sight he found inside was indescribable. 

In the middle of the operating room, surrounded by a frankly obscene amount of other things, was a small figure on a table. The whole place smelled strongly of blood, sweat, bodily fluids, offal, and the ozone scent of electricity. Beeping and quiet murmuring met his ears as people stepped around with tools, adjusting things here and there, laying hands on supplies and the patient, in loops of progress. There was hosing, vials of synthetic chemicals and acids, work tables heavy with circuit boards and wires and smooth sleek parts. The lone patient in the room seemed too small and battered to be a real person anymore. 

Jesse’s mind unhelpfully supplied the other bowls surrounding him (filled with what looked like shredded meat) had to have been from inside of him. Organs, bone, muscle... The person’s torso was held open and he could see synthetic organs, bone grafts and circuitry being added where Jesse knew ribs had once been as technicians bustled around and tweaked things, plunging hands inside the cavity like it was some sort of pinata and not a person. The patient had bandages wrapped around their shoulders and gleaming metal limbs- every limb but his left arm, were stained with blood and greenish red fluid. A small cloth covered the pelvis, modestly, not really indicating whatever was under there was intact, but Jesse wasn’t going to look. The patient had no breathing tube- Jesse could see the lungs expanding and retracting, doing their mechanical work better than any external machine ever could. The jaw was sleek, dark, and masculine, a corded throat full of synthetic vocal cords was twitching in the light. A man then. Jesse could see the teeth on the bottom were false, he’d lost his entire lower jaw. There were bandages covering the face with faint red lines, but they were old, faded crimson, as if they had already finished getting tended to. 

It was a horror show. McCree’s face was stark pale and he wondered who could have done this to a person. How did someone do this to anotehr person. Was it torture or was this a botched murder. It looked as if the patient had been shredded in a blender. How did the medics even manage to keep the person alive enough to be replaced in near entirety with synthetic parts? He was certain that the fate that awaited the man on that table would be one full of suffering and pain. He didn’t get much longer to look, as another technician realized he’d just been standing there and kicked him out with a firm warning to “get some sleep dammit, we’ve got a long way to go”, though he wouldn’t ever forget it.

Jesse walked out of the room, into the waiting area, before he dashed to a bedpan and violently emptied his stomach. It wasn’t right. Not in the slightest. He knew now that whoever had done that was a monster, had intended suffering and a message, and had certainly delivered it. But Jesse also knew that if the man in that room survived, he was going to need someone at his side, some sort of grounding presence. He’d try to be that person. He’d try his damnedest.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turns out, befriending Genji Shimada was a lot harder than he had anticipated. When Angela had finally presented Genji to the other Overwatch members, he had not been talkative, barely offering a greeting before dashing off to who knows where. Through hearsay over the next few weeks and glimpses at secret reports (seriously who was in charge of security it was _abysmal_ ) it was garnered that Genji was in fact the Shimada of Yakuza renown, the younger brother of Hanzo Shimada, current leader of the clan. It was rumored (and confirmed in the reports) that Hanzo and Genji had a falling out and that Hanzo, Genji’s own brother, was the one that had tried to end Genji’s existence. 

McCree’s stomach had heaved as he saw the pictures from the initial scene, and vowed that Hanzo would get a few bullets to very sensitive areas should they ever cross paths. Better to end this monster in just as much pain as Genji had endured than go the merciful route.

Still, no one seemed to learn this from Genji- who kept an air of detached professionalism as he went through his training, like any recruit. He was a demon with his blades, though at times he seemed unaware of the power he put into his limbs and as such, overshot an attack. He never seemed to want to get to know anyone, nor train with anyone despite repeated orders from superiors. Any attempts to get him to eat alongside his team in the mess were met with a hostile stare from bright red eyes. Most people got the hint and left Genji alone. After all, not everyone had sparkling pasts in Overwatch and most people wanted to keep the skeletons subsequently buried within their closets or graves of choice. 

Jesse however had made an oath, and was going to keep at trying to befriend the other. He offered Genji greetings whenever they crossed paths. They didn’t go on missions often at first, their fighting style not ideal mixed together, but when they did he was always friendly. He would tell Genji stories about missions in the past, anecdotes to ramble away the time as they transported there, jokes to ease tension after a near scrape. McCree considered himself a friendly sort, and figured that even if Genji didn’t want him around, he was at least tolerating him for the time being. Then Genji was placed into Blackwatch under Commander Reyes and McCree was seeing a whole lot more of the Cyborg ninja. Especially as Talon was starting to escalate its activities.

Months of this went by, months of McCree going out of his way to be kind to Genji, offer him a chance to laugh (sometimes at McCree’s own expense) and it seemed progress, if any, was slow and unnoticeable to anyone else on base. But McCree was nothing if not stubborn, and he persisted. It was during the strangest of anecdotes that something shifted.

“So there I was, caught in the middle of an argument ‘bout what constituted a spice, trading history or flavoring of food because Morrison was insistent it was and Reyes told him calling salt a spice was an insult to his ancestors and all _I_ wanted was to put it on my fries... which had gone cold by that point-”

A soft, soothing laughter met his ears and the end to his story died on his lips. Genji, sitting next to him, had laughed at his story, and even more alarming, had put his hand on McCree’s shoulder. McCree’s face had lit up like the sun and he listened as Genji’s laughter trailed off, replaced by a brief, embarrassed cough.

“You got a real good laugh, partner. Glad to have heard it.” Genji seemed to stiffen at that, his hand had withdrawn, and McCree’s smile lessened. He’d somehow messed things up. Shoot. He busied himself by lighting another cigar, looking over at the younger man. After a moment, he realized he still had the last part of his story to tell.

“So that’s why we don’t got any salt shakers in the mess.” Jesse finished with a wiggle of his eyebrows, to which another surprised laugh spilled out. Yes, he still had it after all. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

While Genji wasn’t more talkative about his own past, after that he seemed to open up here and there. The ninja offered more commentary to Jesse’s stories, laughed (but just as often groaned) at his terrible jokes, and spoke more words during missions. Genji had even stopped by the medical bay once after a mission had given McCree a concussion. At least he thought Genji did. He remembered waking up in the night to see a tense figure in the shadows, red lights glowing faintly, but that could have been his delirium because he could have sworn he also saw a giant taquito talking to him too. When he was awake again, Genji was gone, but he knew deep down that the Cyborg had been in there, watching over him. It made him rest easy, something he rarely liked to do as a patient of Mercy’s.

So the years went by, and things seemed to get worse as much as they got better. The mission in Venice seemed to be the turning point. Overwatch was dealing with more and more problems. Sure, they were getting more renown, especially after Blackwatch was more or less a “spilled secret” and Overwatch was facing mounting pressure from various villains that were stepping up.Commander Reyes, seemed to be more withdrawn and more prone to frustrated comments since Venice, especially concerning one of the “poster children” of Overwatch, Strike-Commander Morrison. McCree was content to stay out of it and just do his damn job. There was no going back after what happened that day, and even he, with hands stained as they were, wasn’t sure Reyes had made the right call.

Times were changing. Genji was moved out of Blackwatch as his skills continued to increase, and as his cybernetics were continuously enhanced. His jarring and off-putting red design was swapped out with a more streamlined and efficient green He was een wearing a jumpsuit now, which had earned a joke from McCree about “fighting naked this whole time”. As the stress began to mount and Blackwatch grew more and more covert, McCree’s constant talking with Genji trailed off, but Genji picked up the slack some. Occasionally, Genji would offer tidbits of information about himself after a lot of wheedling from McCree for “something in return, I know you’re not a complete mystery”. 

He told McCree that he liked video games and was once quite good at them as they passed by an arcade on one of their missions. He remarked he didn’t like spicy foods, but had eaten a whole tablespoon of wasabi on a dare, the confession of which made Jesse nearly snort said condiment up his nose as they sat in a sushi restaurant. Even something as simple as Genji’s favorite color (Green, second being the orange of his jumpsuit) were things McCree cherished; filing them away in his mental database that the cowboy was slowly compiling about Genji They didn’t interact as often but Genji would ask questions and it encouraged McCree to seek him out when they weren’t busy. 

Then it all blew up in their faces when Switzerland happened. A base gone, three people dead with one betrayal. Funerals are never pleasant to attend, but McCree couldn’t even mourn his commander properly once the intel leaked with Reyes’ part in the plot in the first place. McCree began to withdraw into himself, working on trying to salvage the reputation of Overwatch as peace began to spread faster than the need to send them out. He missed Genji something fierce, but he was picking up the slack in Blackwatch, trying to be a role model and leader for the other members. He still tried to greet him whenever he could, but Genji seemed busy on his own as well, and it became harder and harder to run into him.

Eventually, McCree tried to schedule a day to catch up and Genji curtly answered that he was leaving Overwatch the next day, it had all been cleared in advance, without so much as a goodbye or notice to the cowboy. Well, seems he’d finally lost his ability to tolerate the sharpshooter. McCree’s mood plummeted that day and remained bleak long after Genji had left as Overwatch crumbled around all their heads.

So as the organization disbanded with warnings of vigilantes being prosecuted, an uneasy peace between humans and omnics, and nothing really to show the time he’d spent in Blackwatch; McCree ended up back in America, becoming something of a tall tale in the wind. Now and then he thought on Genji and the others. He hoped they were faring well. He kept an ear to the news all over the world. He knew something was up with the Shimadas, the empire beginning to crumble just as Overwatch had, and he initially wondered if Genji was responsible. But there was never any mention in the news of the Cyborg, so McCree didn’t dare to hope too much. 

But he stayed busy, best he could. It turns out peace was never something truly attainable and there was always scum that needed killing. But people always got the wrong idea about it, blaming him for the whole mess instead of the rightful targets. Well, he was the only one walking away from them, so Jesse couldn’t get too upset. It only made sense. 

He roamed the Southwest, eliminating riff-raff and keeping the peace while laying low as best he could. He didn’t need to be as active, so his military lifestyle gave way to better drinking and eating. He got complacent, and as things got more and more busy for him, the warning bells were only just beginning to ring when he received a call from a communicator put away in a pouch on his belt for far too many years.

He answered it with a lazy drawl and a wide smile, then packed up what meager possessions he had to head off overseas. It was time to get back in the game. If Genji joined them, if he was even still alive, McCree would try better this time. He’d try better with everyone, so what happened in Switzerland would never happen again.

He swore that it would never happen again.


	2. Turbulent Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, here’s another update on this. Sorry it took so long, and it's so short. McCree was being particularly difficult to churn out. I did my best. 
> 
> Achaka, the lovely dear, made the point that I had totally forgotten, like a dingus- that Hanzo had attacked and nearly killed Genji with his sword (the one in the short) and not the bow. 
> 
> I did a bit of editing on here, and hopefully my bug to keep writing this will continue~

Getting back to meet up with everyone had been a trick and a half. He’d put on an entirely different outfit as a disguise. Skinny jeans, loafers, a graphic tee, sans hat, hair in a small bun, fake glasses, and cigar replaced by an e-cigarette (which he loathed, but he’d suffer for anonymity); he got off the plane with no issue, dressed like any other 21st century hipster living vicariously 70 years “retro”. Facial recognition software was good, but not that good; and the guards watching it at airports weren’t as vigilant as they should be. It was unsettling, the lack of real safety people had, contrary to what they assumed they had.

So McCree was heading to Watchpoint Gibraltar. Even in Summer here, he felt pleasantly cool compared to the blistering heat of Route 66. He fondly remembered that this place was always incredibly nice, if a bit windy. He really missed his serape right now, but it was being picked up and brought in, like his other supplies- less conspicuous that way. 

Still, as he walked out of the airport into the main streets of Gibraltar among the nationals and the other visitors coming from the airport- it was all so eerily familiar. He remembered walking these streets once upon a time, taking the smatterings of time off as he waited for his peers to be discharged from medical. He recalled the days spent on the cliffs, staring out at the sea- He remembered time spent haggling with the tourist merchants for some silly knick knack to go into lockers and two voices rose into his mind unconsciously, paining his gut as the memories surfaced. 

_“Thanks McCree. It’s joining its comrades in my locker, but I’m running out of space for them all and they’re going in yours next if I run out-”_

_“Why do you insist on buying these for me? They’re ridiculous, and probably quite overpriced-”_

Each voice made his heart clench painfully in turn. The first one for the dead (and he really should leave an offering this year for Gabriel, he’d been on the run last year so McCree had been unable to set up an altar), the second for a man he’d gotten close to and lost. Both different losses, but each hurting a different way.

There was hope for the latter. If Winston did recall everyone, maybe Genji would join them. He hoped so. But what would Genji be like? McCree’s mind wandered and fixated on the Cyborg Ninja as his feet automatically carried him towards the cliffs and out of the main airport. He’d need to hail a cab to get to the watchpoint, but that was all right.

McCree knew he’d changed a lot himself. He’d gotten pudgier, the trim form of a military lifestyle and a younger body was behind him now. He wasn’t a young man anymore. Seven years was a long time in the deserts. He smoked more, no doubt he was going to get a reprimand from Angela about that, and he wasn’t as meticulous with his grooming. He looked- scruffy. Now, Jesse McCree knew he wasn’t an ugly man, he still had some charm, broke plenty of hearts; but Genji likely hadn’t changed any, being a cyborg and all. Was he going to be shocked at the change in the cowboy? Would it bring discomfort to the other to know he was frozen in time more or less?  
Shit, why was he thinking about things like this, thinking Genji would be so superficial. He wouldn’t care. Genji wasn’t anything but McCree’s friend anyway, if he was even considered that. Why McCree was fretting over all this, he couldn’t say. But it was foolish. There was no need to feel self-conscious. He couldn’t have been the only one to change.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh Lord. He’d been the only one to change. Of the remaining faction that returned from the old days, Winston, Mercy, Torbjorn, Tracer and Reinhardt- McCree was the only one who looked even remotely different. Sure, the Swedish mechanic and the giant German Knight were a bit more scruffy, but they didn’t show their age. How had they managed it? Angela looked like she had the day he’d left- it was unreal. 

He wished he could hide under his hat as the others welcomed him, joking and messing with his disguise.

“Almost didn’t recognize you mate, you look like everyone else!” Tracer chirped, hopping about him with clear interest. Angela had something in her hands, which turned out to be his clothes and supplies. She pulled his hat out of the box and plopped it on is head, which earned a sigh of relief. It was like a lost limb had been returned to him.

“Now you’re the McCree we know!” Reinhardt boomed, clapping the man so hard on the back he nearly toppled. The mountain-sized man’s strength hadn’t waned an ounce. It really was like old times again. 

The group filled him in on what had prompted the Recall as they walked into and through the Watchpoint. Winston looked bashful as it was revealed just how he’d decided to recall the group, the attack from the being known as Reaper, Talon still being in the works after everything… it was cause for concern, but he did remind them all they were technically vigilantes. As such they would be spending a lot of time moving from base to base. Gibraltar was just a collection point, not a permanent home for them.

Though that news was sobering, the overall mood was high. They were the first to arrive, but Winston had contacts with several other old members as well as his eyes on promising new recruits. People that wanted change, or fought for what was right; after all, the world could always use more heroes.

McCree waited until they had been settled in before he sought Winston out and asked about Genji. Winston had a knowing look (damn him) behind his glasses, but explained that Genji had in fact, responded that he was interested. He had been in Nepal with the Omnic Shambali monks. One of said monks, Genji’s master apparently, was on the way to join their ranks first. Genji was going to follow after completing business in Hanamura.

It was one of the last places that McCree would have guessed the Cyborg to have been, Nepal. It was a pretty remote locale, even the monks struck a strange chord with him. McCree knew of the recent assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta at the hands of a strange woman, code named “Widowmaker” (which he later found out was Amelie LaCroix, former Overwatch agent, _holy shit_ ) but he wasn’t sure how having one of said monk among their numbers would affect them and their image. He was even more uncertain on how he felt about Genji becoming one of the pupils of the Shambali. Did that mean he didn’t identify as a human anymore? Was he a religious man? It wasn’t any of McCree’s business but dammit he wanted it to be.

There were too many questions. What would be different, how would Overwatch survive, who were these Talon agents? When would Genji return from Japan? Why was he there? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the other man? 

Winston had waited around a bit, but realizing McCree was unresponsive in his own little world, he’d left to work on preparing the base more. The cowboy didn’t even notice, nor remember as he kept stewing over his frustrating obsession with Genji. 

It was more than friendship, he realized as he walked to his old room. The realization nearly slammed him straight into his door, were it not for a timely automatic assistance from Athena. (He always appreciated that she looked out for them in the halls) But his interest in Genji, the obsessive behavior- he was acting like a dog whose owner had left town for the weekend. It was pathetic.

His interest with Genji probably had once been innocent, but now he ached to see the other, wanted to fix what he’d messed up so badly. He realized with a similar crack to slamming his head into the door he really had **missed** the other, badly- and that while he had missed the others it wasn’t the same intensity. He’d longed for Genji, mourned the loss of his company in a way that was in no way platonic.

Well, _shit._ He could have realized this once Genji got here and not an undetermined time out away from him when he’d agonize and freak out about this new revelation, probably making him act the fool in front of Genji when they encountered one another again.

He had a few weeks to get it out of his system. He’d just have to try. Maybe he could get more information out of the Shambali monk, learn what kind of a man Genji had been these last three years.

He could do this. He could make this work. 

_He was fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again so much for reading, please feel free to leave comments, questions and concerns!
> 
> I'm going to work on this since Retribution gave me the bug again for McGenji.

**Author's Note:**

> I like McGenji. McHanzo is not as good, because Hanzo needs to take a lot of time ans self-reflection to realize what a piece of absolute shit he is, especially in the game to his brother. It's my opinion that Genji and McCree have pretty similar personalities and would get along, so here we go. 
> 
> There's gonna be angst in here, with Hanzo jumping in and Zenyatta coming along and man oh man am I not ready to do a multi-chapter thing. Aha aha. Here we go.


End file.
